Nemesis
by sternenacht
Summary: Every good villain needs their nemesis. Present Mic, the Voice Villain, has found his in the dark and brooding underground hero Eraserhead. Meanwhile, radio host Hizashi Yamada finds himself falling for high school teacher Shouta Aizawa after a series of meetings too coincidental to be chance. Erasermic-centric!
1. Power Trip

Electra Heart had long been a stop for shady men to find a "date" and for even shadier business deals to transpire. The bass beat pounded in his soul, the lights dazzled magenta-turquoise, and Present Mic had someone very important to meet.

It was almost laughably easy to bribe all the workers. If things went well tonight, he'd be a rich (well, richer) man. He paused for a minute in front of the floor-to-ceiling mirror to pop his collar. Oh, yeah. It was Present Mic's time to shine.

The crowd of sweaty deviants parted before him, everything from the studded leather jacket he wore to the two feet of hair piled atop his head screaming danger. Up a winding spiral staircase he climbed to his own private little lounge, the writhing bodies on stage only catching his attention for a moment or two. His client, however, was already waiting for him on the STD-ridden couch.

"Kenshiro! It's as much of a pleasure as always to see you!" he simpered and stayed standing. Hizashi towered over the short, horizontally inclined, man. Perfect. And then, dropping the pretense, he leaned in close. "Let's talk business. Get comfortable."

Hizashi gestured for the attention of a scantily-clad waitress. Just to freak his client out, he leaned in close and whispered, "Four shots. Two vodka, two water. Put the water in yellow glasses and the vodka in purple." Oh, they all knew him here. He blew more money in a single night than the rest of the normal patrons did in a month. Kaneshiro shifted uncomfortably in his seat. "Let's get to the heart of the matter, yeah? You've been selling and selling and selling all day long, but you haven't bought since March. Where've you been getting your stuff?" The round arrived, and Hizashi wordlessly thanked the waitress by pressing a 5000-yen bill into her hand. "Cheers," he held up his first 'shot' for a mini-toast.

The fat little traitor clinked glasses, as was dictated by social etiquette. But would he squeal? "I don't know what you mean," he said airily. There were sweat stains under his armpits visible even in the low light. Disgusting.

"You don't know?" Hizashi hissed, downing his first 'shot' in one smooth motion, "That's weird. Do you think Chihaya'd know?"

Kenshiro choked on his own, very real, liquor. "What do you mean?"

"Your daughter, dumbass. I wonder what she thinks of her unemployed daddy who can still somehow afford to send her to Hosu High even though all he does all day is sit around and watch TV. Do you think she knows where you've been buying your product? Because it sure wasn't from me. And meanwhile you've been running around selling piss-poor product getting people sent to the hospital! It's only a matter of time before the police get involved and start trying to track me down for even more than they already are. So, I'll repeat my question one last time. Where've you been getting your stuff?"

Kenshiro had nothing to say except a weak "what?"

"You heard me. All you have to do is just tell me, and start buying my goods again, and you'll both have someone to come home to at the end of the night."

His client tensed as if to get up from his seat. Hizashi smirked, cold, down his nose at Kenshiro. "She's got this real pretty blonde hair. Does she get it from her mom? I think she'd hate if you weren't to get home in one piece tonight."

"What do you want from me?"

"I think I've been pretty clear. Information and your patronage." Hizashi was getting awfully tired of repeating himself. "See, I'm not an unreasonable guy. I don't really want to hurt you or your daughter. The thing is, if you don't tell me what I want to know right this goddamn minute, things are gonna get a whole lot more interesting."

Kenshiro's face clenched into a whimper. Was he about to cry? "Fine. Fine! I'll talk! I've been buying from…." and then he muttered something too low to hear.

"What was that?" Hizashi whispered, low and cloying, face close enough to Kenshiro's that if he so desired he could kiss him.

"I've been buying from Sugimoto!"

Hizashi recoiled away, twisting into a grimace and swore loudly. It took him a moment to collect himself before he returned to his calm-ish state and spoke again. "Get out of here. Go home to your daughter and tell her it'll be a couple months until she gets her new phone. I'm charging you double for the next month."

"What-you can't-!"

"See, lemme tell you a little something about being a villain. I do what I want, fatty. Now, run home with your tail between your legs. I'll be in touch!" and then Hizashi strutted down the stairs, laughing all the way.

Hizashi didn't see Kenshiro leave. He shook it off, left the waitress and bartenders hefty tips, and called one of his henchmen around front with the car.

The bright red Ferrari reminded Hizashi of something he couldn't quite put into words. All he could say on the matter was that he liked it quite a bit and that it was one of his finest purchases. The seats were comfortable and it accelerated in the blink of an eye; perfect for getaway driving. And, hey, the Voice Villain had a brand to uphold.

There was one tiny little catch about getaway cars, though. For one to get away in it, it had to be parked in a convenient location.

And at the moment, the report he was getting was that his minions were off around town taking it on a joyride. He'd be sure to chew them out about it later. Sirens sounded in the distance. Kenshiro had squealed, hadn't he? Who else could it have been?

"You little shit!" he hissed, taking off into the narrow alley beside the club. Whether the insult was directed at his useless groupie or the traitorous pig, even he wasn't sure.


	2. A Chance Meeting

Five minutes into duty, and Shouta's phone was already blowing up.

"Eraser, we need you-"

"Voice Villain-"

"Jack Street-"

"Deafened six officers-"

"Slow down, slow down!" he barked, "Now, what's this about the Voice Villain?"

"We got an anonymous tip that he was spotted at Electra Heart in the Hoth District. When we sent out police cars, he used his Quirk on the officers inside to incapacitate them. We need your help and your Quirk to take him down. He's fleeing on foot and took off down Spaker Avenue," Tsukauchi fired off word after word, almost too fast for Shouta to catch.

"I don't think I've ever brought in Present Mic. I'll be on my way, any tips to take into account?" he flung himself through the urban jungle, swinging from bridge to fire escape with the aid of his capture weapon.

"Don't engage him at long range. His Quirk will shred you. The only way you'll win the engagement is if you get the drop on him and erase his voice before he starts screaming. Reports say he's terrible at physical fights. Good luck." Tsukauchi cut out of the comm with a brief static buzz.

Shouta came to a stop above a scene of raw destruction that should not have been possible with a measly voice Quirk. Broken glass lined the sidewalk. Three cars lay ablaze in a pile, driver-side doors open as they lit up the buildings they'd crashed into. Water Hose was on the scene, though, doing their best to mitigate the fire damage, and so Shouta left the disaster to the rescue heroes. From the looks of it, they had already put out the worst of the inferno. Present Mic was still out there, waiting to be caught. And Eraserhead always came out on top.

Hizashi was so, so, screwed. They'd sent more cops than before and he'd only just barely managed to avoid a few of them by giving them the ol' switcheroo. And then, someone new had started following him.

He'd caught on to the all-too-familiar sensation of being watched a few blocks down. Ugh, he'd have to rid himself of a stealth hero. They were… always the worst. Hizashi paused and took a real good look around. That was an awfully large shadow below that windowsill. He breathed in, held it for a moment to gear up, and then screamed.

The sound only came out in all of its glorious volume for half a second before two pinpricks in the shadow flashed a bloody ruby red and a spectral hand tightened around his throat, and his world went silent.

"Present Mic," said the shadow, dropping from the concrete sill with the now-cracked windows. It hadn't been loud enough to burst eardrums, but certainly loud enough to let his follower know he wasn't as stealthy as he thought he was. "You're under arrest for the Villainy-Terrorism Act of 20xx. You have the right to remain silent." There was no denying the muscle hidden under what might as well have been a plastic trash bag, or the sharp cut of his jaw. This handsome stranger's hair stood on end as if charged by electricity or as if he was being held upside down. Hizashi liked the second option better.

The hand around his throat loosened as fluffy black hair settled down around Mystery Hero's head. Finally, he could speak again. "And what iF I DON'T?" he bellowed, shaking the world and waiting for the silence to return. If this didn't work, he had one more trick up his sleeve he'd been itching to try.

Somewhere, in the back of his mind, Shouta dimly realized his eardrums had burst. Between the bile rising in his mouth for no apparent reason and the adrenaline racing through him, he had more important problems to deal with. Blood dripped down the sides of his head. It would be a bitch and a half to wash out of his hair later. Huh, well, there was the cause of the blinding pain between his ears. "Are you done?" Shouta drawled, though he couldn't hear himself. Dammit. He'd have to close the distance, but how?

"Nowhere close to it," and now the unit on reading lips finally came in handy. A nasty little smirk bloomed across Mic's face. Fine. He'd just give the villain what he wanted, then. Eraser threw his capture weapon to the nearest street lamp and he slingshotted himself forward. His feet collided with Mic's chest with a satisfying thump. Shouta's Quirk flicked on, and his hair flew up once again. Mic pushed relentlessly against him. Tsukauchi was right about him being a pushover at close range. As soon as his Quirk wore off, though, Mic would kill him with a close range shout. There was no doubt in his mind on that front. And so, he plucked the headphones from over Mic's ears, used his capture weapon for its intended purpose, and continued his relentless assault of blows.

Mic might have been a pushover, but he was clearly straddling the line into "average". He was stronger than he looked under all that leather. His obnoxious amber glasses slid across the asphalt when Shouta landed a particularly powerful blow to his jaw, and he screwed his eyes shut. Why?

And then the singing started. He couldn't hear it so much as he could feel it. A single low note, impossibly so, that started at a normal volume but bubbled out of Present Mic's throat louder and louder. Shouta couldn't even choke him into silence. That stupid clunky speaker was in the way. "What are you doing?" he growled, but he got no response. No eye contact, even. The note seemed to pierce the pit of his stomach. As it grew louder and louder, Shouta couldn't breathe. It reverberated through every inch of him, even through the headphones he'd swiped. It was too much, too much, too muchtoomuch--!

Shouta passed out.

When he woke up, he was strung from the light he'd launched himself from. Present Mic was below him, the same nasty little smirk from earlier making a reappearance. He'd taken back his sunglasses and headphones. Shouta still couldn't hear for shit, but damn if he wasn't glad he could read lips. "I hate to cut this gig short, but I've got places to be. It's been a while since I've had a fair fight, and you're not half bad. Next time we fight I'm going to bring the house down with a decisive victory. The police will find you sooner or later. See you around, mystery man." And with that, Present Mic threw him a wave and padded off down the street. Shouta watched him go until his absurd hairstyle faded into the horizon.

Sweaty, heart racing a million miles an hour, and mouth dry, Shouta hung around. Was this what it felt like to have eardrums burst? He was unsure, but he did know two things:

At this rate, he'd miss the start of DJ Yamada's show,

And….

He would have to meet Present Mic the Voice Villain again.

Holy shit, it had worked?

When he was sure he was far enough away, Hizashi backed up into yet another shady alley and barked out an elated, shrieking, laugh. Sound really was amazing, wasn't it?

The reasoning behind his theory had been shaky at best. Every solid had a frequency that if held long enough would cause it to shatter. Glass's was easiest to find, yeah, but it existed for everything if you knew where to look. It had taken Hizashi maybe about two weeks to find the one for bone in theory, then another two to practice it enough on himself that he could stay conscious afterward. All of the hours spent passed out from Quirk recoil had been worth it after all. But hey, it had worked on his mystery hero, and the pounding headache he'd gotten in return? Worth it.

What had that guy been doing looking all hot and bothered while dangling from the lamp? Hizashi paused his train of thought for a moment to throw up in a nearby trash can, then continued. He ran a hand through his absurdly tall hair to shake loose some of the spray. It fell to his shoulders in large, obnoxious, clumps that he had to bend and crunch to return to its natural shape. Hizashi folded the glasses, shimmied out of the tight jacket, and produced the drawstring bag he'd stuffed into its pocket. The directional speaker hadn't seen much use yet, but it had at least blocked Mystery Hero's hands from choking the life out of him. He carefully took it off, wrapped it in the leather coat, and stuffed the two pieces into the drawstring.

When he was a little kid he'd found it weird how nobody ever noticed Clark Kent was Superman. But now that he was older, he could appreciate the power of minor outfit changes a bit more. Swap out one hairstyle for another, a leather jacket for a T-shirt, and glasses for contacts, and magic might as well be at play. The ineptitude of the government never failed to please Hizashi. They couldn't even touch him behind his rather lackluster disguise. Hizashi Yamada, radio announcer and minor celebrity and Present Mic, Voice Villain, were two seperate people as far as the law was concerned, and he preferred to keep it that way. Him and his Mystery Hero would probably be on the news later. Perfect. A chance to learn the identity of his handsome stranger.

What he wouldn't give for Mystery Hero to wrestle him down and tie him up in a different setting!


	3. Coffee

"You took the getaway car for a joyride?" Mic repeated, incredulous. "I was almost caught by the police! Then whose payroll would you three be on?" His Quirk almost slipped out a bit. It hadn't done that since he was, what, fifteen? Embarrassing. Feedback, Bass, and Treble at least had the good sense to look afraid. "I should fire you all on the spot!" In the back of his mind, Hizashi found just a bit of joy in frightening his subordinates. Let them taste just a bit of his rage.

All of the villains present in the room, himself included, knew he'd never go through with it."We didn't think you'd be done so soon!" Bass, the oldest of the bunch, piped up. Hizashi couldn't find it within himself to stay mad at him. Endearing little dumbass. Bass rubbed his collarbone, sheepish. There was not a single evil bone in the boy's body, and every time he saw him he wondered why Bass had chosen villainy.

Treble, the little bastard, sneered. "Aren't you a big-league villain? What are some cops to the great Present Mic?" He should have fired her long ago, and this was the perfect excuse. Unfortunately, Treble was in too deep with him and they both knew it. One time, she'd tried to poison his coffee with cyanide. If she hadn't used such an obviously identifiable poison, he'd be a goner. She flaunted her untouchability every chance she got. Oh, he wanted to slap her so bad. One day, he reassured himself, one day.

"It's not a matter of being unable to destroy them in a fight. All of you know I have more skill in one strand of my hair than most those pigs do in their whole bodies! It's a matter of being caught in the first place!" Hizashi, ever the wild man when angry, strutted up and down the floor of his office. His hands tangled themselves in his golden locks.

Feedback finally spoke. At least they were a competent (and dubiously trustworthy) one. When they spoke, it was usually worth a listen. "It was Treble's idea!" they tattled, and Treble whipped around to face them, offended. She started on them, hands raised in prime throttling position, but Hizashi stepped in.

He clapped a hand down on Treble's shoulder, and she paused for only a moment before bearing down on Feedback again. "Treble!" he yanked her back towards him, activating his Quirk enough for his words to ring in everyone's ears. "I'm in charge here. Sit down." His snarl deepened at the corners of his mouth and the light glinted ominously off of the lenses of his glasses.

Treble diverted her fury up to Hizashi, molten lava in her eyes. He stared down his nose at her, unimpressed. Eventually, she looked away, sat back down on the couch in front of his desk, and muttered something along the lines of "-m not some toddler."

"You could have fooled me," Bass muttered, probably thinking nobody else could hear him. Finally, he seemed to be coming out from Treble's shadow. Good.

"I don't care whose idea it was! But if it ever happens again, I will frame all of you for murder and personally turn you in to the police. Am I clear?" he pinched the bridge of his nose. The Three Stooges nodded in sync. He was bluffing, and they all knew it. Yet somehow, Hizashi knew they wouldn't pull anything else with the getaway car for a while. "Get out of my office." He flung himself into the swivel chair on his side of the desk and spun away from his underlings. They didn't make a sound when they left. He exited the building and got started on the walk home. He needed a nap, something to eat, and a shower before he was ready to go on air.

\--

Hizashi made a scream of frustration between his gritted teeth as he planted his forehead into the center of his steering wheel. He white-knuckled the grip and slid his hands back and forth as if he were revving up a motorcycle. Three middle-aged hookers almost run over, two lights he'd run, and ten goddamn minutes in traffic! He was so close. The studio was right there! All he could do was wait, though. He prayed to whatever god was up there that the traffic would clear.

Fifteen minutes late to his time slot, and he wasn't even in the building yet! He should never had hung around to tango with Mystery Hero. He sped into the parking lot and the migraine he'd gotten from his low tone experiment yelled in protest. That was a problem for future Hizashi, though. He yanked out his car keys, slammed the door, and flew through the lobby. Pulling on the studio-regulation headset and pulling the broadcasting mic closer to his face, he put on his game face.

"Good evening as usual, my insomniac listeners, and sorry to keep you waiting! I had a long day, and so I decided I'd take a nap before my show like I usually do, yeah? Turns out I set my alarm for 12:30 instead of 0:30! The only thing that woke me up was one of the studio interns calling my cell! Shoutout to Yamikawa-san. She may not be a hero by law, but she's certainly one in my heart. Anyway, to the music! After we make our ways through a couple songs, we'll have a chat about the recent news. I was really feeling this particular song today. I hear it's about addiction, but don't read too much into t;hat. Enjoy!" Hizashi leaned back in his chair and let the slow jam wash through the headphones. He flicked the microphone off and decided to do a bit of sleuthing.

The headlines were, frankly, a bit of a blow to his pride.

Voice Villain? More Like Fashion Villain.

Present Mic: Horribly Dated and Horribly Ineffective

Villainy is Dead if Present Mic is the Best They've Got.

So that made both of his personas that the media hated him under. Fun. Still, he kept looking. At last he stumbled upon one article that showed him the respect he was due.

Present Mic: An Exercise in Deception?

Just as his mini-playlist came to an end, Hizashi bookmarked the article for later.

"So, earlier tonight, I came across this huge disaster zone. Pileups of flaming cars, destroyed windows, the whole shebang…."

\--

Hizashi let out a heavy sigh as the clock hit time-up. "And that concludes tonight's broadcasting of Put Your Hands Up Radio! I'll be wrapping up, but you all know what to do: put your hands in the air! Yamada Hizashi, signing off." With that, the folks in the tech booth flicked the On Air sign to Off and gave him the thumbs up. He rose from his chair and exited the recording room. "Great work, everybody. Go home and get some rest," he muttered, eyelids drooping. Ugh. His bed was seeming more and more appealing by the minute. Hopefully traffic wouldn't be as bad as earlier. What kind of city had congested streets at one in the morning? Hizashi picked up his bag from the bench outside and took a long swig from his water bottle. Oof. Broadcasting sessions always left him just a little drained and in need of a pick-me-up for the shitstorm of public appearances he'd need to make the next morning. He headed out the door and right across the street to good old Hallowed Grounds.

They recognized him by now. Hallowed Grounds, opened about three months ago, was a European-style cafe that had very quickly become Hizashi's favorite place. It served excellent cappuccino that always had twice the caffeine it should. He'd sung their praises on air more than once, and it was a stroke of genius to put it right across the radio station. The bell over the door rang, and the barista perked up at the… had the worker behind the counter fallen asleep standing? Hizashi muted Treble's call and sauntered up to the counter, flashing him a smile and taking his spot on the wall to wait. As usual, when he received his order, he tipped his unremarkably remarkable amount and went to where the tables were located to relax.

All the regulars were there. The old man who seemed to have shrunk with age huddled next to the crazy cat lady with the creatures dangling off of her (the fur always got everywhere). Then, the kid who shouldn't have been out at this hour of the morning without their parents sipping what he hoped was hot chocolate. Today there was a new one, though. A gloomy looking, unkempt, guy in the corner with his pen over a paper and everything below his waist in an almost comically kitschy sleeping bag. A tall stack balanced on the corner of the rickety table, poised to fall at any moment. Hizashi could have sworn he'd seen him before, and he stood like a deer in headlights with his plastic cup in hand. The stranger looked up, and spoke, "If you're going to stare at me, sit down and stare at me."

And then it clicked.

Hello again, Mystery Hero.

"I think I'll take you up on that, yeah? Sorry about that, I just feel like I've seen you someplace before." Hizashi slid neatly into the seat across from Mystery Hero after draping his jacket over the back of the seat. "What's your name, [mystery man]?" he rolled the R for a hot second before spitting it at his handsome stranger. Beneath the scruffy five-o-clock shadow and unkempt hair, he couldn't help but admire the new "friend" he'd made. Mystery Hero took a long, slow, sip of his drink and made a large X over a question with obvious relish.

"Aizawa." he muttered over the cup. "You?" No first name? Or was that his first name? Whatever. A name for the face, at last, even if it was only part of one. By tomorrow morning Feedback would have a profile compiled.

What?

This bozo sat right across from his radio station and didn't even know who he was? Hizashi wasn't sure whether to be pleasantly tickled pink at the thought of anonymity or irritated that he wasn't currently in a hospital undergoing major surgery to repair his eardrums. Just what was this man made of? "Oh," Hizashi flushed, one hand making its way up to his hair to fiddle with a piece that had fallen from its bun. "I'm Yamada Hizashi," he snapped his fingers and shot some finger guns at Aizawa, then held the pose for a moment while he started speaking. "I haven't seen you around. What brings you to my favorite place in the whole city on a fine morning such as this?" The other regulars' stares burnt into the back of Hizashi's head.

"I heard about it from somebody I know," Aizawa flipped a page and got to work marking down all of the incorrect questions.

"You are… really going to town on this page, huh?" Hizashi sweated and dropped the pose. "What did this poor kid ever do to you?"

"I don't have the patience for kids who can't memorize basic facts like the proper kanji for names and places. This kid has no potential. I constantly catch him sleeping at his desk, and he tried to grope a female student at least twice."

He covered his mouth with his hand to disguise the sharp intake of air he sucked in through his teeth. "What a disgusting little rat." Hizashi took a long sip, and, upon finding the container was empty, seemed a bit disappointed. He got up to throw it out and when he got back, Aizawa had moved on to a new test set. The little rat's test had an ominous red X across the front and a small note in the upper left corner reading "See me after class" in handwriting so messy he could barely make it out. As if on cue, his phone buzzed again with another call from his minions.

"And with that, I think I've gotta go. I'll see you around, Aizawa-san?" he pushed out his chair, rose, and shoved his arms through the sleeves of the jacket.

Oh, he'd see "Aizawa-san" all right.

He'd see him.

\--

The morning came and went, and Shouta found himself in Hallowed Grounds again with another stack of work.

"Aizawa-san, you're here again!" a voice that was familiar for more than one reason called out before its owner claimed the seat across from him. "How did things go with your piss-poor student?" That was Yamada's Quirk, he supposed, to make others feel like they've known him for centuries in the span of a few minutes. He remembered every name, every detail, every stupid little story mentioned in passing. Yamada chattered on, filling the silence with talk about everything, and Shouta kept it going by making snide comments every once in a while with some verbal jabs thrown in for good measure. And for once, Shouta found he didn't mind the company.


	4. Warpath

"I need your services," Hizashi cupped his hand around his mouth, trying to muffle what he was saying into the receiver of his handy-dandy burner phone. To any onlookers, it must have sounded rather like calling a prostitute. He ducked into his car, eyes darting about to pinpoint any witnesses he'd have to avoid. "I have a name, well, part of one, to the face."

"Your mystery hero?" came Feedback's usual monotone, "Once I give you the profile, will you be satisfied?"

"No," he chirped, smiling to himself. They missed a beat, the phone line going silent, before continuing like nothing was wrong. Hizashi stifled a laugh. They had said more in thirty seconds than the entire rest of the year put together. He had to bite the inside of his cheek hard enough to draw blood to keep himself from laughing. "Aren't you a regular little sour lemon, Shizuka?" he drawled, leaning against his now-closed car door.

"Don't use my given name. You never know who could be listening," they hissed, "How much prior knowledge do you have?"

"You're so paranoid. Just relax a little. Have you done anything to warrant getting a wiretap? I certainly haven't." Their call dissolved into high-pitched furious cackles on Hizashi's part, and short piggy snorts on Shizu-no, Feedback's. "Yeah, just a last name."

"And what is this last name?"

"Oh--! It's Aizawa."

Feedback went silent again, and Hizashi could almost feel their disapproving glare burning a hole in their phone. "Boss, if I stepped outside and started walking down the street, odds are I'd pass an Aizawa. That doesn't help at all."

"How many scruffy pro heroes with black hair and a quirk that makes his eyes flash would you pass? He was in Hallowed Grounds, which means he either works or lives near here. Come on, Feedback, earn your paycheck. I'm counting on you. And when you do find out, can you do me a solid and keep the news from Treble? She'll overreact and send the cleanup crew after him," Hizashi rambled. He didn't realize Feedback hung up on him until the dial tone rang hollow in his ears. Hizashi couldn't hide the smile any more, especially as his phone buzzed again with a text from the little ninja themself.

I'll have it to you in three days at most, probably sooner. I won't be able to do anything more for you until then.

Ah, the joys of riling Feedback up never ceased.

\--

"What happened to you?" Nejire buzzed, hovering around him. Shouta tamped down the urge to swat her away like a fly. "Are you OK? I saw on the news that you got all messed up by the Voice Villain! What did he do? Is he tough?"

"They put me on the news?" Aizawa groaned and zipped his sleeping bag up just a little tighter. Maybe if he pulled on the zipper hard enough, it'd snap off and he could rot to death in his cocoon with only his jelly packets to judge his soul. Finally Mirio had the good sense to pull Nejire away, and Shouta had half a mind to just give him an automatic pass on his first year right then and there.

"Oh, yeah. Two days ago!"

"Aizawa-sensei!" Mirio shot him an almost-fearful smile planned to placate, and kept speaking, "I don't know if this is my place to ask, but what exactly did happen with Present Mic over the weekend?

"The police requested my help in dealing with him, as he has a powerful Quirk with few known counters, and so I helped. I tried to sneak up on him and somehow he saw me. He pulled some trick and knocked me unconscious after rupturing my eardrums. I had to come in late Sunday night and see Recovery Girl. No, I don't know what he did, and no, I don't know how he did it. Don't bother asking. I was out of school on Recovery Girl's orders until today." It seemed he'd predicted Nejire's questions, and her shoulders wilted a bit.

"Are you sure you're alright?" Mirio asked, though it didn't seem like he expected an answer. He sat down just as the bell for homeroom to end rang out. Usually the jarring noise burnt right through Aizawa. After being in the blast zone of whatever the hell Present Mic's Quirk was, it didn't seem so bad.

"Whatever. Recovery Girl's got me covered even if I'm not." Shouta slipped out of his sleeping bag, gathered it up, stuffed his hands in his pockets, and skulked out of the classroom. On his way out, he bumped into the old hag of an English teacher.

The most remarkable thing about her was that there was a betting pool going around about when she'd retire (Shouta's money was on sometime in the next year). Her ratty dark hair was pulled into a too-tight bun at the nape of her neck, and the tie holding the mess together looked like it'd snap any second. Terribly hypocritical as it was to judge her on her hair, Shouta certainly had his other reasons to hate the witch. Creases lay deep on a sallow face from a life of frowning far too often. Even when Shouta himself was forced to take her class, he didn't think he had heard her laugh sincerely even once. "Good morning, Aizawa," she simpered, not even bothering with an honorific. How rude. Watanabe's beady little eyes flicked up to his as if expecting a response.

"Watanabe," he nodded, not missing a beat. She opened her mouth as if to call him out on his disrespect, thought for a moment, and replaced him at the desk inside. The corners of Shouta's mouth curled up into a mean little smile. He indulged in a moment of private schadenfreude as he plopped himself down at his own desk in the staff room.

Aizawa scrolled idly through his various social medias, slurping on a jelly packet. The cats of the day were new and fresh, his ears weren't ringing any more, and the stack of tests piled high on the tabletop didn't seem as high as it had yesterday. Finally, some progress.

\--

Aizawa Shouta, 28, M

Erasure Hero: Eraserhead

13 Years Active

Field Training Teacher at U. A. High School

Quirk: Erasure- By staring at people, their Quirks are erased until he blinks.

"Where did you even find his medical records? I don't need these? What the f-" He began, flipping through the pages upon pages of sheer condensed information, but Feedback slammed a hand down on the cover of the report.

"Earn your paycheck, Feedback," they said, high-pitched and singsong. Then, dropping the pretense, they continued. "I want another 100,000 yen in my bank account, on top of the normal salary."

Hizashi whistled, long and low. "Is that really what I sound like to you?" And then, slapping his palms together and spinning to face Feedback in his swivel chair, he said, "You don't come cheap. Whatever, I'll just give it to you now."

"Both Ogoe and Watanabe recommended me, didn't they? The best in the business, and now you're seeing why. I get it done, fast and in excruciating detail!" they rattled off. Hizashi thrust the necessary stack of bills into their waiting hand. They counted it all and folded it into their wallet.

"I wish I could say the same, Shizuka-chaaaaaan."

Feedback shot him a glare to rival Eraser's, well, Shouta's, and an idea flashed white-hot down his spine. He shot up from behind the trashy department-store desk he couldn't bring himself to get rid of. "Now that I know his Quirk, I can devise a battle plan, yeah? Leave me be for a while. I've gotta scheme." They left Hizashi to his own devices with nothing more than a nod, closing the door behind them with a soft click.

\--

"What do you do, anyway?" Yamada took a long sip, half lidded eyes gazing past long lashes. "I know you're a high school teacher, but where do you teach?"

"U.A," Shouta muttered, barely even looking up from his test.

"I guess that explains why on every one of our daily coffee dates, you're grading another test. Don't the teachers assign crazy amounts of work at U.A?"

"No, I assign crazy amounts of work." Shouta's smile was more of a leer, really, and it showed off far too many teeth.

Yamada's brows crumpled low over his eyes, and his smile curled up at the edges to meet them. A laugh Shouta would gladly pay any sum to hear again cleared the air. "That reminds me! I have some stupid work event I've got to go to in a couple weeks, and the host keeps badgering me about finding a plus one. Would you mind coming along with me?"

Did he…. hear that correctly? Shouta didn't react, and instead stared at Yamada, a deer in headlights.

"Oh, no, no, no, I didn't mean it like that! Maybe I should have phrased that differently?" Yamada wrung his hands, smile dropping. Damn. "It's a promotion of this new artist, and they want as many people at their event as possible! They're a friend of mine and they want me to bring guests along. You know, for exposure and all that!"

"I can't go," he clenched down on his favorite red pen, and for fear of exploding it all over his hand, Shouta forced his fingers to uncurl. Events with celebrities, however minor they might have been? That was exactly the sort of thing Shouta swore he'd avoid the minute he unboxed his provisional license.

"Hey! I didn't even tell you when it was yet!" Yamada protested, index finger stabbing in his direction as if to accuse him of something.

"Parties aren't my thing," he testified, and the utterly crestfallen look on Yamada's face almost changed him to a party animal on the spot. "They're a waste of time."

"No, they're not! Besides, you'd probably have a chance to network, anyway! You know, other pro heroes would be there, and I'm sure they'd all love to have you work with them."

Woah, woah, woah, stop the clock. "How do you know I'm a hero?" Aizawa quieted, eyes narrowing. Something was up, with his beloved DJ Yamada, and he was ken on finding out what.

"Well," Yamada sweated in his seat, "Aren't you a U.A teacher? They're all pro heroes! It goes without saying that you'd be one too!" What was he so nervous for? While yes, Yamada was correct, he seemed too much like a suspect in an interrogation room to let slide.

"Your eyes are darting every which way," he observed, and suddenly the man sitting across from him wouldn't look at Shouta.

\--

He shouldn't have said that. An uncomfortable not-quite-grimace bloomed hot and wide, and Hizashi racked his useless, useless, brain for any possible solution. "I, uh…. I'm sorry," he offered, stumbling over his own words quite uselessly. Maybe he could divert attention from his blunder? In a moment of either pure genius or unadulterated stupidity, he sputtered, "Do you want to go on a date with me Friday night?"

The tips of Shouta's ears flushed bright red, and he drowned a surprised choke in the bottom of his coffee cup. Operation: Distract Eraserhead was a success! "What," he clapped the cup back onto the table, voice flat.

"Do you want to go on a date Friday night?"

The silent air between them hung oppressive until Aizawa finally spoke again, "Where?"

A man of few words as always. "Well, you don't like parties, so I'm gonna assume you don't like loud bars or clubs either, yeah?" Aizawa nodded, and so he continued, "What about just coming over to watch a movie or some comedy on Metflix?"

"As a date?"

"...Yes? Unless you'd like to do something else?" If there was a God, he'd let this work. Hizashi would have made a few brief prayers were he not actively being scrutinized.

Finally the fever in the air broke. Aizawa smiled inwards on himself, chin tucked into his chest and gaze thrown somewhere to the side. Hizashi thought in that moment that he'd rather like to see it again. "No. That sounds like a good time. Can I have your number?"

The time spent exchanging phone numbers was a little bit of a blur. Adrenaline still ran hot and thick through Hizashi's veins for no good reason. By the end of it, there was a new name in his phone with possibly the cutest cat picture he'd ever seen as a contact image. Hizashi left the coffee shop, a spring in his step. Not only had he dodged that question like a pro, he'd gotten a date with a cute guy! Sure, he just so happened to be on his enemy's side, but hey! You win some, you lose some.

Nailed it.


End file.
